


i'm in this maze with you

by june (intimately)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, M/M, Smut, Unrequited Love, also Harry's artsy and Niall's a jock, and Harry is shy and blushes a lot, and Liam and Louis are hopeless, and Niall's closeted, and Zayn does a lot of weird drugs, and climbs trees, and gets in the way, but in love with his best friend, but we love him anyways, in which everyone's pretty much gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-23 23:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intimately/pseuds/june
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Niall promised in the sixth grade that they'd go to college together, and they do, and it seems like everything's going according to plan — until they get stuck in a house full of misfits that slowly begin to drive Harry nuts, whether it's Louis' pet pig, Butter, or Zayn performing hard drug deals in their living room. Harry'll be damned if he turned down Dartmouth for this, but Niall will do anything — anything at all — to make him stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm in this maze with you

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I wrote anything like this, but I hope it's fluffy and smutty and exciting enough to please everyone.

Harry’s lost. Hopelessly, hopelessly fucking lost, because Niall didn’t do the best job of warning him about how huge the campus is, nor of giving him directions to their dorm. Thirty-two thousand people didn’t seem huge when they filled out their applications — loads of new friends, massive parties, and a solid amount of school spirit was more of what came to mind — but now it’s somewhat daunting, and Harry mostly just wants to run back to his car and speed back home, especially now that he’s reached what looks to be the end of the row of dorms and none of their respective signs have read “Hawkins House” yet.

He’s staring intently down at his map, just about to give up and slink back to his beat up ’97 Chevy when he slams straight into what might as well be a solid brick wall, but what ends up being, in fact, a muscular boy about his height that, Harry can’t help but think, was probably some large breed of dog in his previous life. Just as he’s beginning to fear for his life and sputtering out an apology because, hey, he’s just some freshman who happened to slam into the ropiest guy he possibly could, the man’s lips spread into a wide smile and he claps Harry on the arm hard enough that Harry’s hoping it isn’t broken.

“Freshman?” the boy asks, though it’s more of a confirmation than a question. Harry nods along, hoping that he might get lucky and this guy might not beat the absolute living shit out of him for being in the way, as usual. “Cool, I’m Liam.” Of course, a manly name to go with a manly figure, Harry thinks, and drags his mind away from the _figure_ section of that thought and back to the _man_ , who is spouting off in an pointedly informative voice about directions to Hawkins House.

“That’s where I’m staying,” Harry blurts, interrupting the boy. “How’d you know that?”

He motions towards the dorm name scribbled on a piece of paper that Harry has firmly gripped in his hand, sending him into a flurry of blushing. “Sorry,” he mumbles, feeling stupider than ever.

But the guy simply chuckles, sticking out a hand that Harry meets with his own and giving it a hearty shake, introducing himself as “Liam, head of the Delta Lambda Phi fraternity and campus extraordinaire.” It takes Harry a moment to realize he’s joking. Honestly, he’s making Harry feel a bit like an awkward middle-schooler, and he can practically feel the braces on his teeth and acne splashed across his cheeks when another blush works its way across his face.

He feels a bit dumb, not having any special titles or things to set him apart, so he quietly replies, “Harry,” and leaves it at that. Something like electricity is buzzing through his veins because someone actually took the time to talk to him and help him; college might not be that bad, Niall might not be his only friend, he might not spend the majority of his nights cooped up in the studio with worn-out paintbrushes and hundreds of canvases that Niall will insist are “masterpieces, Harry, every bloody one of them,” but that he himself considers trash.

But then, maybe he’s getting ahead of himself.

Liam decides that Harry, as an obviously attention deficit and confused freshman, needs his guidance, and prompts the younger boy to follow him to his dorm. His demeanor keeps Harry on his toes, a small fraction of him set on edge because this guy seems too perfect, too welcoming and friendly and attractive to be true.

And when a petite, fluffy-haired brunette rushes up to the two and wraps his lean arms around Liam’s waist, staring him down with inquisitive blue eyes, Harry hates himself for always being right. In fact, that happens to be the last time he sees Liam and Louis apart — ever.

“Liam, darling, who’s the fresh meat?” blue-eyes chirps innocently, the quip making Harry flinch and Liam giggle; he actually giggles, and the absurdity of it all causes Harry to choke a bit, though he passes it off as a quick clear of the throat.

“Harry,” he introduces himself again, extending his arm for a handshake and praying that blue-eyes doesn’t have the same grip as his friend. It doesn’t turn out to be a problem: the boy tugs him in for a tight hug and plants a wet kiss on his cheek, a beaming smile painted along his lips when he pulls away. “Louis,” he replies. “Absolutely charmed.”

Liam nudges Louis and eyes him knowingly. “Harry’s staying in Hawkins House,” he announces. The statement peaks Louis’ interest, — “ooh, that’s this way!” — and he squeals like a schoolgirl before lacing his fingers through Harry’s and taking off in the opposite direction of the houses. Harry isn’t nearly as fast as Louis, and finds himself tripping over his own overgrown feet as he runs, getting much too close to face-planting a shocking amount of times within the minute or so that he’s being dragged along.

And then he really does trip, flying head over heels into the dirt when his feet catch on a small post dug into the mulch beneath his shoes. Liam catches up with them a few seconds later and finds a very out of breath Harry face-down in the grass, Louis bent in half, laughing his ass off at the new boy’s misfortune, and another figure slithering down from one of the oddly-angled trees that stand in the field around him.

“Have you killed him?” Liam gasps, horrified. “I was just beginning to like him, too. Shame.”

Harry shoves himself up off the ground, mumbling something about new jeans and embarrassment while he brushes his shirt off and promptly crosses his arms and turns to look at what knocked him over — and then breaks out into laughter. He’s stumbled over a short sign emblazoned with the two words he’s been looking for all day: “Hawkins House.”

The building reminds him a bit of an ill old man, the way it’s slightly slumped to the side and the air conditioning units in the windows seem to wheeze breathily; the windows are fogged like eyes with cataracts, the paint peeling and shingles missing from the roof like it’s balding.

“So this is it?” Harry sighs, cocking an eyebrow in minor disappointment. The house isn’t quite as glamorous as he expected — but then again, neither is the college. “It looks kind of…”

“Old?” Liam finishes his sentence and Harry nods, frowning. “It is. Oldest building on the campus. Also the coolest. Welcome home!”

Once again perplexed, Harry parts his lips to speak, but Liam cuts him off. “We live here, too. They like to assign us the latecomers, people who straggle when they apply for housing.” Harry feels his cheeks flush for the third or fourth time within the hour, feeling as though Liam must know how difficult it was for he and Niall to convince the housing committee to place them together. Niall had almost attempted to convince them that he was disabled and Harry his assistant, but Harry wouldn’t let him go that far.

Liam watches pink work its way along Harry’s face and smiles gently. “It’s okay. We’re all kind of misfits. I’m pretty sure Zayn doesn’t even go to college here anymore.” His tone is light, but with some sort of serious undertone. Harry sneaks a glance at the olive-skinned boy who appears to have vaporized from thin air during his tumble, and who is now walking on his hands towards the front door. “I’d ask the admissions office, but none of us know his last name.”

Harry shuffles nervously, deciding he’ll steer clear of Zayn, though Liam senses his discomfort and protests that he’s “harmless, really” and “too much of a burnout to do much exciting.”

When Harry’s finally led through the front door of Hawkins House and immediately spots a tuft of black hair hunched over a line of what looks to be cocaine, he supposes hard drugs must not be on Liam’s list of exciting things. His collar suddenly feels too hot and Louis’ looking at him almost predatorily, Zayn’s wiping the remnants of white powder off his nose, a small pig scuttles under his feet, squealing in terror, and Harry really, really needs Niall right now because this… this is absolute and utter insanity.

And as if Niall’s some damned fairy godmother, he practically skips down the stairs the moment Harry begins to panic, a textbook in one hand and a burger in the other, looking more than settled — he looks _comfortable_.

Harry begins to worry he might be alone in this one.

After a second of pause, Niall realizes Harry has materialized in the living area in front of him — “You scared the right shit out of me, mate” — and snaps his textbook closed; it’s calculus, none to Harry’s surprise: Niall is one of the smartest people he knows, at least when it comes to books.

A warm pair of arms and an even warmer smile envelop him, and Niall intertwines their fingers and tugs the suitcase out of his hand, mumbling something about Harry being too thin to carry it up the stairs without keeling over. A protest catches in Harry’s throat, but he lets Niall have it, not wanting to drive away the only person in the place with an inch of sanity away.

Their shared room is the second to the right, which makes Harry smile because it reminds him of Peter Pan so he knows he won’t forget it, and he makes a mental note to find something star-shaped to put on the door, though he knows Niall will roll his eyes and make comments. As soon as Niall’s put down Harry’s bags, he turns and plants his hands on his hips, a huge grin stretching across his face. “What d’ya think?” he asks excitedly, Irish accent thick as molasses over the words.

Harry stares at him until his smile drops. “You’re not serious, are you?” he demands, tone harsher than he meant it to be, but he’s mad, can’t believe he turned down a college acceptance to Dartmouth so he could come here with his best friend, only to end up in the university’s unofficial, makeshift loony bin.

As if to emphasize the situation, Louis strolls past their room, humming a tune that Harry is ninety-nine percent sure is from Moulin Rouge and donning a heavy fur jacket that looks to be made from a massive bear. He does a complex little dance move as he passes their doorway, shooting both boys a lazy smirk.

“He’s in musical theatre,” Niall begins to explain, though he’s cut off by his friend’s louder, distressed voice.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what he’s in, this isn’t normal!” Harry screeches in a whisper, flailing his arms helplessly. “For god’s sake, Niall, there’s a boy snorting cocaine in the living room and a bloody pig in the kitchen!”

“His name is Butter,” Niall clarifies, because _that_ makes it so much better.

A strangled squawk escapes Harry’s mouth. “We have to find a new place to live.”

All he’s met with is a troubled frown. “Give it a chance, Haz. I’ve been here for two days, and I’ve survived. Hell, I might even go as far as to say I like it.” Harry snorts in disbelief, but doesn’t comment. “Now c’mon, let’s get you unpacked. You’re gonna like it here — promise.”

Just as he turns to unzip Harry’s suitcase, something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye: a pinky, extended and patiently waiting to be curled within another. A smile playing at his lips, Niall hooks his finger into his friend’s and grips it firmly, shaking it a bit for reassurance. _Harry will like it here,_ he decides. _He has to._


End file.
